


keep my head from going down

by gezurak



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, Girl!Stiles, Magic!Stiles, hair feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gezurak/pseuds/gezurak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Stiles just wants to grab a pair of scissors and cut her hair, chunk after chunk, watching it fall into the porcelain bathroom sink, and be done with it. </p><p>alternatively, Stiles' insecurities lie in her hair. Derek thinks it's silly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep my head from going down

**Author's Note:**

> my dear friend Lau likes to wake me up in the morning with 20 text messages detailing plots of fics she wants to read. this idea was hers, I merely fleshed it out. so many thanks to her for that, as well as being my cheerleader. x

Sometimes Stiles just wants to grab a pair of scissors and cut her hair, chunk after chunk, watching it fall into the porcelain bathroom sink, and be done with it.

She’s come close, a few times, has found herself standing in the bathroom with scissors in her hand, staring at herself in the mirror. She wonders what she’d look like with her hair cut to her chin, layers falling on her cheekbones like her fringe does now. She wonders what it would be like to shake her head and feel the lightness of it.

But she always chickens out.

Because she remembers why her hair is so long – it’s far easier and quicker to wrap it up into a bun at the top of her head than to have to style it every day like she knows she’d have to. It’s thick and wavy, unmanageable when it’s any shorter than her shoulders.

At the moment her hair reaches the small of her back, just past the curve of her spine, and she knows she should have had more than a few inches cut off of it months ago. But, really, getting to the hair salon has been pretty low on her list of priorities lately, amidst school and all the supernatural shit she’s found herself a part of.

Like now, Stiles is supposed to be at Derek’s for the weekly pack meeting to discuss the research she’s been doing on vampires. She quickly braids her damp hair across the top of her head and around the back above her neck, fingers moving nimbly through the strands until the plait wraps around again like a crown. She secures it with a handful of pins before adjusting her bangs and then she’s slipping into her jacket and collecting her bag.

When she arrives, Derek pulls the door of his loft open before Stiles has even raised her fist to knock.

“You’re late,” he says as she enters the large open room where the others are already assembled, sprawled across multiple sofas and the floor.

“Had to take a shower after lacrosse,” she responds simply, plopping down into her waiting armchair to pull out her laptop. “You could have started without me.”

Derek rolls his eyes and shuts the door. Sometimes it feels like he spends half his life waiting on Stiles.

When really, he would spend his whole life waiting on her.

 

;

 

Stiles settles on the sofa, tucks her feet beneath her as she curls up under the blanket and leans into cushions.

“Did you pick a film yet?” Derek calls from the kitchen, over the sound of corn popping in the microwave.

“Yeah. Clue,” Stiles calls back and sets to pulling the pins out of her hair. It’s been in a bun since early in the morning, and now at nearly eight in the evening the headache caused by the weight of the style has fully set in. She pulls the last few pins out, then the elastic, and her hair tumbles down. With a relieved sigh she rubs her fingers across her sore scalp and then down the strands, loosening the curls and shaking them out. She snaps the elastic onto her wrist and drops the pins onto the coffee table next to the PS3 remote, which she then picks up.

Derek comes into the living room a few moments later, bowl of popcorn tucked under his arm and two cans of coke in his hands. He stops short when he sees Stiles sitting on the sofa flipping through the DVD menu.

In the nearly two years he’s known her, he’s never seen her hair loose before. It’s always a tucked braid or a bun or a French twist with a pen stuck into it. It’s not like he’s imagined it otherwise, he’s actually never given it much thought, but to see her now with it shaken out around her like a cape, all he wants to do is run his fingers through it.

It’s just so shiny, a deep luxurious brown, and it looks so soft.

Stiles looks up now to see him staring at her from the other side of the sofa and frowns.

“You okay, dude?”

Derek leans forward to set the food on the coffee table and then finds a place beside her.

“Yeah. I just… haven’t seen your hair down before.”

“Not surprising,” Stiles snorts and lifts the edge of the blanket to toss it over Derek as well. “I hardly ever have it down. It stays out of my way when it’s up.”

“But it’s so pretty.”

Stiles blinks at him for a long moment.

“Really?”

Derek nods and Stiles hums before twisting in her place to lean into the curve of his arm, head on his shoulder.

She falls asleep halfway through the film with Derek’s fingers threaded in her hair.

 

;

 

“Do you have a hair elastic?” Allison asks, giving up on fishing around her bag for one.

Stiles holds up her empty wrists to check them, then shakes her head, loose curls bouncing.

Allison smirks.

“Well that’s a first.”

 

;

 

It isn’t their first argument, but it might as well be because this kind of warfare is a brand new ballgame.

“No, Stiles, in what universe do you think I’m going to be okay with you doing this on your own?”

 “Derek, you know I’m the only one capable of handling this sort of shape shifter. Magic will be way more effective than your brute force!”

“You’re not going _alone_ ,” Derek growls, holding firm. The whole idea is absolutely ludicrous, even if he does have to admit she’s right about being a better solution. Over the past year she’s grown into her magic and is more than capable of not only defending herself, but the entire pack. She can handle this shifter more easily on her own, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

Stiles’ shoulders slump as she folds forward into herself in the image of defeat. She twists her mouth into a pout, lower lip bitten pink and plump in the way she knows he finds difficult to resist, then slides her hands up to her hair.

“I just don’t want to put any of you in danger,” she says quietly, fingers plaiting a few strands over her hair in front of her shoulder.

Derek merely stares for a long few moments, watching silently as the braid gets longer and longer beneath Stiles’ capable hands.

He wants to reach out and –

“No, Stiles. Stop that. I know what you’re trying to do,” he says indignantly and folds his arms across his chest to keep his hands to himself.

Stiles tuts at him, fingers moving on to twirl the end of the braid between them.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You. And your hair. And the braid!”

Stiles glances down at her hands before turning her gaze upwards again to peek up at Derek with feigned innocence he can see through, but it doesn’t matter. She’s won and they both know it.

“I will be a block away listening to every single thing, and if I hear that you even _remotely_ need back up, I’m coming to help you, okay?”

Grinning smugly, Stiles skips forward a few steps to close the space between them and plant a kiss on Derek’s cheek.

 

;

 

Stiles isn’t sure who started the fire, but it’s everywhere, spitting sparks and thick black smoke into the air. It has the scent of dark magic laced into it, a sharpness she recognizes and loathes. Go figure the werewolves would have a witch on their side.

Seems like everyone does these days.

She’s wearing a scarf, a loose cotton thing she now pulls up over her mouth and nose before holding up her hands palms out and deliberately thinking the incantation for water. The sounds of clashing werewolves come from somewhere beyond the smoke – snarls, grunts of pain, bodies colliding and falling to the cement floor of the warehouse.

She needs to see. Needs to see Derek and Scott and the others and know they’re alright because damn it she’s supposed to be helping them and protecting them and she can’t right now.

It could be the smoke, it could be the overwhelming sense of helplessness and impending panic attack, but she can’t breathe and the spell doesn’t work. Her palms grow moist, clammy almost, but nothing more.

Stiles swears, wipes her hands on her jeans, and squeezes her eyes shut. She inhales deeply, smoke burning and filling her lungs, but it doesn’t matter.

On the exhale she whispers the incantation this time, and cool water bursts forth in jets.

Focused on quelling the flames she doesn’t hear the werewolf until he’s nearly on top of her, darting quickly from behind.

She turns at the last second as he reaches towards her with claws outstretched and feels the slight pull on her hair. Suddenly she feels off kilter, unbalanced as she sends the man flying backwards with less force than she intended to.

She chalks it up to smoke inhalation making her light-headed and returns to getting control of the flames.

The fight is over when she has a handle on them, pushed against the edges of the abandoned warehouse and licking up the concrete walls. She quickly pulls her hair off her sweaty neck and piles it into a bun out of the way, wishing she’d done it earlier. Her skin feels hot and her lungs burn but it’s _over_ and they’ve _won_ and a glance around the room tells her everyone is alright.

Derek is at her side before she’s lowered her arms, henley torn and bloodied, but already healing. He reaches up to brush soot from her cheek with his thumb, eyes dark and worried.

“I’m okay,” Stiles rasps before breaking into a fit of coughing. It feels like someone has taken a knife and scraped the inside of her lungs with it and she whimpers because it _hurts_.

Derek starts barking orders at the others, to Jackson and Erica and Boyd to take care of the building, to Scott to call Mrs. McCall and tell her they’re coming in, to Isaac to make sure everything is under control.

“No, I’m fine, we don’t need to go to the hospital,” Stiles objects, but Derek is already ushering her outside into the cool night air. “I –“

She stops on the first inhale because it only makes everything hurt worse as it gets caught in her chest.

Just this once, she’ll go.

 

;

 

It isn’t until later when they’re back in Derek’s loft after spending four hours at the hospital that Stiles notices.

Her body is caked in ash and sweat and she can’t even think about going to bed like this, even as exhausted as she is. She allows Derek to lead her to the bathroom and turn the shower on before pressing a kiss to her temple and leaving her to herself. Underneath the warm water she unravels, giving into the aches and tingling in her fingertips she’s learnt to associate with the spark. She pulls the elastic out of her hair and tilts her head back into the spray, reaching up to run her hands through her hair.

Her hands still when the strands stop just above her left shoulder.

Her hair is _gone._

A quick check reveals the right side is intact, a tangled mess from being left down during the fight. She wracks her memory and it comes to her suddenly – the slight pull on her hair in the smoke. Claws. The sudden unbalance.

Fumbling, Stiles turns the water off even though her skin is still dirty and grabs a towel from the bar to wrap around herself. Her horrified reflection stares back at her in the mirror above the sink as she takes in the unevenness of her hair. She turns her head from side to side to see it flutter back and forth, dripping water.

Stiles rummages in the metal bin on the shelf, grasping at the hair scissors she finds there. She pulls them out and turns them over in her hand. Her stomach drops and she has to bite down on her lower lip to keep from being physically ill.

She’s going to have to cut the rest of her hair. It can’t stay like this. It’s not really even a choice.

But what’s Derek going to say, now that he can’t let his fingers get lost in the long curls, breathing deep and half asleep. Now that he can’t absentmindedly coax it into a braid whilst they’re watching a film.

He’s going to break up with her now, isn’t he.

She’s going to cut her hair and he’s going to break up with her.

It can’t be avoided.

Her hands shake as she gathers her hair and cuts it til it’s mostly even – she’s not a hairdresser, there’s only so much she can do. She’ll have to go to a salon so it can be presentable, but this will do for now.

She cleans up and replaces the scissors before turning to the mirror again.

It’s been years since her hair was this short, just touching her shoulders. She must have been in third grade or so, when her mother finally let her decide how she wanted her hair cut and she’s chosen to crop it short. It had been exhilarating then, to shake her head and feel the lightness. Now it’s only terrifying.

“Stiles?”

Stiles grips the towel tighter to her body when Derek knocks on the door, fear filling her chest.

“Yeah?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah?”

There’s a long pause and all Stiles can here is the blood rushing in her ears. She’s sure Derek can hear the thudding of her heartbeat too as it hammers against her breastbone.

“Can I come in?”

Stiles reaches out for the doorknob and tugs it open, half-hiding behind it as Derek peers into the bathroom. He leans around the door to look at her, eyebrows knit together over his nose in worry.

“Did you cut your hair?” he asks, eyes widening.

Stiles nods and bites down so hard on her lower lip she can taste blood because, this is it.

“But…why?”

Her heart stutters.

“During the fight. Someone’s claws caught part of it and I had to fix it. And I’m going home now, so.”

She trails off and tries to squeeze past him into the corridor, but Derek gently holds her arm and keeps her still.

“Why on earth would you _go home_?”

The hurt in his voice makes Stiles instantly feel guilty.

“Because my hair is short and you loved it long and you’re going to break up with me anyway so I might as well just go now and get it over with,” she whispers in one breath, keeping her eyes downcast and trying not to shudder in his grip.

Derek makes a choked sound, a growl creeping into the edges.

“Stiles, no. No, no, _no._ ”

“What?”

“Do you really think I’d break up with you because your hair is shorter now?” he asks quietly, sounding strangled.

“Yes?”

Derek releases Stiles’ arm and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Oh my god, you’re absolutely ridiculous,” he says on the exhale. He drops his hands to Stiles’ shoulders and turns her to face him, lifting her chin in a gentle palm so he can look at her. “Stiles. It’s just hair. Yes, it’s pretty when it’s long, but it also looks cute short. I love it both ways because it is _your_ hair. It’s a part of you and I love everything about you.

Like the way you eat all the M&Ms out of the trail mix and then complain about all the raisins. And the way your whole body gets involved when you laugh, like your face scrunches up and you kind of shake with the giggles. And how you leaves notes with random facts on them everywhere for me to find.

Your hair doesn’t define you, or make me love you any less, okay? You could have died tonight. And frankly, the loss of a little hair is something I can deal with. But I couldn’t deal with losing all of you.”

Stiles can feel herself crumbling, insecurities and anxieties and walls breaking and falling down around her feet. Everything tingles from her fingertips to her toes as she silently steps forward into the circle of Derek’s arms.

“I love you,” he repeats and kisses the top of her head.

 

;

 

The key turns and the lock clicks open and Derek tenses because it’s only half seven he’s not expecting the pack for dinner until eight. He crosses the room in one stride, claws out, lurking next to the door as he waits for it to open.

It swings open slowly and he growls, launching himself into the doorway to confront the intruder.

Stiles shrieks and drops both her keys and her rucksack with a clatter, hands flying up to cover her mouth.

“Stiles? What are you doing here?”

“Surprise,” she says weakly, stooping down to gather up her things. “I was really missing you, so I thought I’d come visit for the weekend.”

Derek quickly retracts his claws and takes Stiles’ bag from her, tugging her inside the loft and into the light. It’s then he notices her hair, dyed deep red except for the last few inches, green curling halfway down her arms. He takes it in, the bright colours contrasting sharply against her pale skin. It’s odd, but it suits her nicely. Vibrant and exciting and teeming with untold power. It doesn’t compare to the glossy brown he adores, but he doesn’t say anything. After three years he knows how sensitive she is about her hair.

“I missed you too,” he tells her as she toes off her shoes and leans up to kiss his cheek. “What’s happened in the… six hours since we last talked?”

Stiles scoffs and gestures – flails – towards her hair.

Derek raises one eyebrow.

“Okay?”

“Katja, my roommate, remember –“

“Yes, Stiles, I remember.”

“Oh my god, hush and let me finish, loser. She was dying her hair turquoise and I thought, hey it might be fun to dye my hair a fun new colour. And I missed you and I thought red would be nice because it reminded me of your eyes. And the green because I like green, and it seemed like a good idea, god, stop looking at me like that!”

Stiles huffs, cheeks tinged red like her hair as Derek merely grins.

God, how he’s missed her. And god, all he wants to do is take her to bed.

“You look like Christmas,” he growls low, sliding a hand onto her waist and pulling her close. “So maybe I should unwrap you cos you’re like a present all year long.”

Stiles rolls her eyes, dissolving into giggles and slipping out of his hold.

“Derek, that was _awful._ When did you become such a sap?” she says breathlessly. “Stop that, the pack will be here in twenty minutes. So keep your paws to yourself, or we’ll traumatise Scott even more than that one time in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, not really caring about Scott right now. And anyway. Twenty whole minutes. Do you know what we could do in twenty minutes?”

Stiles eyes him for a long beat and then surges forward to capture his mouth with her own. Because who can say no to Derek Hale?

 

;

 

Thirty minutes later Scott is sitting in the armchair near the window, doubled over with his head in his hands and muttering about how he really didn’t need to see his Stiles and Derek in such a _compromising position_ , _again._

Allison sits on the arm of the same chair and rubs his back soothingly. She grins and gives Stiles a high five when Stiles returns from the bedroom, fully clothed now.

“Scott, I’m sorry, dude,” she apologises, but Scott ignores her in favour of curling into himself further.

“Ignore him,” Erica says with a wolfish grin, also offering a high five. “The hair is pretty hot. I can see why Derek couldn’t keep his hands off of you.” She waggles her eyebrows and Stiles is in giggles again.

Stiles returns to the sofa and curls into Derek’s side, burying her still flushed face in his shirt with a happy hum when she feels his fingers in her hair. 


End file.
